


The Art of Mending Through Breaking

by AgentInfinity



Series: Porn!AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Caning, D/s, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Flogging, Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Modern AU, Porn With Plot, Restraints, Sensory Deprivation, actual porn stars e/R, mentions of incorrect bdsm etiquette that can most certainly be categorized as abuse, porn au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire spends his days dominating submissives in front of a camera for money.  Also known as being a porn star.  A kinky porn star.  He worked for years as a switch, primarily a sub, and it was during this time that he met an absurdly gorgeous dom named Enjolras.  They struck up an unlikely friendship all those years ago and kept it going even when Grantaire stopped subbing (due to reasons unknown to most).  Now, Enjolras is requesting Grantaire come back and do a scene with him.  As a sub.</p><p>Cue R's intense freak out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Set-Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for the Les Mis fandom and my first fic with kinky sexy fun times. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Chapter two will be out soon--it's the one with the majority of kinky sexy fun times. I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own. These characters are not mine, blah blah, I'm sure you all know this.
> 
> Trigger Warning: There is a discussion of a character's fears being used against him and his limits and safeword ignored by a dominant. This is a very serious issue in the bdsm world and is considered abuse. If this is triggering for you, yet you want to read the story, message me and I can send you one with the triggery part omitted and a non-graphic explanation of what happened if you so desire. The part itself is very small, but it is a large driving force for the plot.

It starts with a phone call. An obnoxiously early phone call. Not absurdly early and not kind of early. Obnoxiously is the correct adjective for it.

It takes a moment for Grantaire to realize that the terrible pop song his phone is wailing isn't the foghorn alarm he had set the night before, but the ringtone Courfeyrac had set in his phone for Enjolras. He fumbles with his sheets and then with the cord plugging it into the wall, all the while his brain is trying to figure out why Enjolras of all people would be calling him at asshole o'clock in the morning. Well, out of all the people who call him, Enjolras would probably be on the short list of those who would be awake at this time and also wouldn't care to wake him. But still. It's seven. AM.

“Hmm, 'ello?”

“R. Did I wake you?” Of course Enjolras sounds awake and alert and functioning. He probably already went jogging this morning. The bastard. “No, I assure you, I am very much my father's son.” Shit. Did he say that out loud?

“To what do I owe the pleasure at sleep o'clock in the morning?” Grantaire manages, words a bit less tinged with sleep.

“I was wondering if you were busy this morning? I was thinking we could get coffee?”

“See, my dear Enjolras, if you ask if I'm busy and then immediately ask me to go somewhere without waiting for a response, it makes you seem desperate.” Grantaire yawns and runs his free hand through his mess of curls sitting lopsidedly to the right on his head.

“So, yes or no?” There are road sounds filtering through behind Enjolras' voice. Grantaire's bed is so warm, though. And he doesn't have to be on set today until two.

But, it _is_ Enjolras. The man he's been a little bit in love with for the past six years.

“Sure, yeah. Meet you in 30 at the Musain.”

***

Grantaire falls back asleep for ten minutes which means he is fifteen minutes late. Enjolras is already seated outside with a steaming cup of something black, and Grantaire nods at him on his way inside to the counter to order an ungodly amount of coffee. When he sits down and takes a large sip of his too-hot beverage, he finally starts to feel awake. Which is a lot more than he could say for himself were he in the same situation a year ago. He probably would have still been drunk when Enjolras called. Life is about the little victories.

He looks over at the blonde man and grins.

“Good morning to you, sir. How may I serve you today?” He might not sub anymore, but he does like to refer to Enjolras in this way from time to time. It makes Enjolras smile.

“Can I not just want to catch up with a friend?” he asks, ruefully.

“No, not you, but I will play this little game with you regardless,” Grantaire clears his throat dramatically. “What have you been up to? It has been _ages_.” 

Enjolras hides his smile as he takes a drink and has suppressed it into a flat press of lips when he lowers the cup. They actually do catch up as friends are wont to do despite the sometimes strange directions the topics might take.

“That was the worst lube I've ever used. I refused to continue on behalf of my chafed cock.”

“I did my first one-on-one training shoot for The Elite. It was with Karen, you remember her, right? Blue hair? Goes by Diamond Something-or-other? She was phenomenal.”

“I quit Luster Vids. They didn't fully-inform their subs and the doms were basically abusers. I've started the process of trying to get them shut down.”

“I moved uptown.”

Okay, so not everything was porn-related. They actually discussed more of what had been happening in their personal lives than their professional lives like old times. The times when Grantaire had just signed on with his first agency and been paired with Enjolras for shoots more often than not. There comes a camaraderie from repeatedly being beaten and fucked and shocked and tied down by the same person on a regular basis for months at a time. Whether in front of a camera or not.

Even if they were polar opposites in most ways, and their careers had shoved them down different paths despite working for most of the same companies, they always seemed to migrate back together every so often as if no time had passed at all.

Then Enjolras dropped the bomb. Or rather threw the molotov cocktail that burned all their easy conversation to charred ruins.

“So, we were going through some older videos for our greatest hits promotion at Fetish, and I found some of our old ones.” Grantaire tenses and flicks his eyes from his cigarette to Enjolras' face.

“Oh?” he asks, going for nonchalance, but the wavering in that one syllable probably gave him away.

“Yeah. We're thinking of putting up the one of us in the woods first. It was one of the highest-grossing that year.” Enjolras has a glint in his eye and his voice is working toward something. He is hurtling toward some subject he knows would scare Grantaire off if he just came out with it. Grantaire arches an eyebrow and blows smoke above Enjolras' head in a swift exhale.

“Uh huh...” Enjolras is bouncing his foot up and down under the table, his face anxious. When he doesn't say anything or look away from Grantaire for a whole two minutes, Grantaire takes pity on him.

“Out with it, E. You look like you're about to combust and this is a good shirt. It would be a shame to ruin it with entrails.”

“Okay, okay, I was just thinking, you stopped subbing on camera _and_ in the clubs very abruptly, and I didn't know why, only that you did and the rumors were kind of outrageous, but you were a brilliant sub, and I was just wondering why,” he rambled, full-speed ahead. This is not something Grantaire wanted to discuss with Enjolras or anyone for that matter, but he can't really deny Enjolras anything, especially when his little speech was so adorable. He tries to be matter-of-fact about it even though it was the worst day of Grantaire's career.

“Look, I just had a bad experience is all. The last scene I did as a sub went very wrong, and before you ask, no it wasn't with anyone at Fetish, and again, no I'm not going to tell you who it was with.” Grantaire looks down and drops his cigarette, crushing it under his shoe. When he glances back up at Enjolras, he can tell that his vague answer was not enough for the other man, and wonders why the angry line of his eyebrows makes him feel uneasy.

“Was it with me? We did that electro scene right before you stopped.”

“Fuck no, it wasn't you. I just said it wasn't with anyone at Fetish. You're actually the best dom I ever had.” And now Enjolras is stunned. His face is laughable, all wide eyes and open mouth.

“Jesus, Enjolras, shut your mouth. You'll swallow a bug,” he chuckles as Enjolras does as instructed. Grantaire lets out a breath and allows his smile fall into a more relaxed yet serious expression. “There is a reason most actors ask to sub for you at least once. Your scenes always feel genuine and you're trustworthy. You know what you're doing and you listen. Those are traits that are hard to find together in one person in this industry.” He smirks across the table. “And it doesn't hurt that you're fucking gorgeous. If you like pain and punishment, receiving it from a cruel and angelic being is as close to godliness as one can get.” That elicits a blush from the blonde man, who is surprisingly modest when it comes to things like compliments, and sets them back on even ground. There's silence, but it's comfortable.

“Can I ask why you wanted to know now? About my decision to quit subbing?” Grantaire asks once they have procured coffees to go and are walking down the street toward the bus stop.

Enjolras bites his lip while he thinks. Grantaire can practically _hear_ him formulating an answer.

“I was wondering if you'd ever sub again. For me.” And, okay. Grantaire didn't see that one coming. He has to admit that the thought of giving the reins over to Enjolras again is exciting, but subbing for _anyone_ again is also kind of terrifying. He changed his paperwork to list him as a dom instead of a switch for a reason. They make it to the bus stop and sit down on the bench before Grantaire replies.

“If it was anyone else asking me, the answer would be no. Emphatically no.” Grantaire stops, taking a moment to puzzle out what to say next. Enjolras is looking jumpy again, and though he has an absurd amount of self-control, he is also apparently nervous. “But, with you, the answer might be different,” Grantaire says quietly and sighs. “I don't know, E. I, uh, I'd have to think about it.” Grantaire kind of wants a drink, but the one-year sobriety token Feuilly had made him a few months ago is sitting heavily in his pocket.

The AA meetings hadn't lasted very long what with the whole listening quietly to everyone's stories and then sharing your own. He didn't need to talk to a bunch of strangers about why he liked to frequent the bottoms of liquor bottles. He needed people who already understood him to make sure he didn't slip. People who loved him and he trusted. He had his own support system, and they were a fuck ton better for him than the 'anonymous' ones he'd met briefly at the beginning of his sobriety. (No offense, of course. The kumbayah atmosphere just wasn't for him.)

Hence, the homemade achievement chip.

Enjolras nodded and smiled at him. “I like that answer,” he said and then dropped the smile, looking serious. “But, if you do agree, I'd like to know what your 'bad experience' was. Not with all the details if you don't want to, but I do need to know the gist of what happened.”

“That's fair. But if this were to happen, and that is a very big if, my friend, it won't be for awhile. I need to get used to the idea again.” Grantaire pats Enjolras on the thigh and stands. “I don't have to be on set today until two, so I'm going back to fucking bed. Seriously, who gets up at seven just for the hell of it?” He's ranting, but he's also grinning. Enjolras is rolling his eyes and waving him off.

“Just call me whenever you decide. _What_ ever you decide. No rush or pressure.”

“Yeah, okay. See ya, E.” Grantaire lights another cigarette with shaky fingers and heads back to his apartment. If he can't calm down enough to sleep, he can always watch bad television and chain smoke.

Two hours into some reality show, he stubs out the last cigarette in his pack and groans, falling sideways into his couch cushions. Stupid Enjolras and his stupid questions. Grantaire already knows he'll do it. He'll sub for Enjolras again. He usually does anything the man asks, and since Enjolras has a pretty wide sadistic streak, Grantaire has vivid memories of why it can be very painful to go along with what he wants. But, he also has vivid memories of extremely pleasurable experiences.

Grantaire groans into his couch again. His shoot this afternoon is going to be very long. At least he'll be the one able to move freely and decide what happens.

 _This time_ , his mutinous brain adds.

He gets up and turns off the TV. His bag of extra clothing and shower supplies is picked up on his way out the door. So, maybe he'll be early today and actually remember the lines he has. Anything to get out of his apartment and stop imagining what is in store for him under Enjolras' hand.

God, why did he say it would be awhile? The waiting (because fuck giving in) is going to drive him insane.

***

Grantaire makes it a week. In that week, he has done three shoots, an interview for a gay porn mag, painted and subsequently destroyed two canvases, and annoyed the shit out of Bahorel and Eponine. He has been banned from Eponine's house until he calls Enjolras. Bahorel has refused to spar with him until he is clear-headed again.

He sends Enjolras a simple, concise text:

_> i'll do it._

And then proceeds to chain smoke his way through the next hour until his phone chimes.

 _> Excellent. Want to meet for dinner and talk? I'll be free in an hour._

_> sure. where?_

_> Just come to mine. We can cook something and talk without people eavesdropping. Combeferre's out tonight._

Grantaire tries not to hyperventilate.

_> k_

***

The apartment is the same as Grantaire remembers despite not being here for about a year. Open floor plan, overstuffed red couch, fucking books everywhere, and the painting Grantaire gave Enjolras for christmas two years ago hanging behind an aged, but well-loved piano. Grantaire initially went into porn when he left art school to make money until his paintings started to sell. He'd always been inclined toward the kinkier pleasures in life, and there was more money in the kinkier pleasures on camera. It was meant to be temporary, but he stayed even when he'd started to do enough commissions to support himself.

Even today he can't come up with an answer better than he's good at it. Enjoys it mostly. Being a switch and pansexual made most things easier.

That reminds him that he is here to discuss the terms of his first sub shoot in three years. Being a pansexual switch is not going to make this easier.

Plus, y'know, Enjolras. Yes, Grantaire ~~loves~~ likes Enjolras. He speaks about the betterment of the porn industry and tighter safety measures with the conviction of the very best political speakers. He rallies against those who write off the BDSM community as perverts and freaks. He gets inside his subs' heads so well that it seems he just inherently knows exactly what they need. He is friendly and personable.

The flame he carried for Enjolras three years ago had not been extinguished. Only dampened.

And now, well, it was a raging brush fire. This was at least 45% of what was turning Grantaire into a ball of anxiety. 50% was being a sub again. 5% was hoping he wouldn't devolve into fits of nervous giggles the second the scene started.

As Grantaire crawls out of his head and chops vegetables for the stir-fry and listens to Enjolras chatter on about projects has in the works and ideas for his own company, his hands stop shaking. He finds himself pulled into easy conversation and friendly arguments, and by the time they've got the food on the table and are eating, the nervous knot in his stomach has loosened.

Grantaire has started on dishes while Enjolras dumps the leftovers into containers when the discussion turns to the matter at hand.

“So, for this scene, do you want it to be a shoot or just in a club somewhere? I'm fine with either.”

Grantaire stops scrubbing the frying pan long enough to calm his breathing and then goes for it.

“Let's do a shoot. If I'm gonna do this, I'm all in,” Grantaire says with a surprisingly sure voice. In all of his frightened overthinking, he might have actually been decisive about a few of the details.

“Okay, that's cool. How many scenes do you want to do in it?” Enjolras is now right beside Grantaire rinsing the clean dishes and sitting them in the drying rack.

“Standard two to three will be fine.” Grantaire is running out of dishes to wash. He will have to look at Enjolras for the rest of this conversation.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Enjolras has the hand towel thrown over his shoulder and is looking at the side of Grantaire's face as he continues to wash silverware.

“I am,” Grantaire says in the most unsure tone possible. He drops the fork he's washing back into the soapy water and splashes himself in the process. Enjolras puts a warm hand on his forearm and squeezes reassuringly.

“Grantaire, look at me.” Grantaire does. “I, uh,” he sighs. “Let's go sit down. The silverware will survive for now.”

Enjolras leads him to the couch by his arm and then lets him go to sit down. Grantaire sits with his legs bent in front of him yoga style and turns toward Enjolras who has one knee hugged to his chest.

Grantaire watches him and waits.

“I know you're very nervous. I don't know what took you from an eager, mouthy sub to someone who freezes up when anything of the sort is mentioned, but I'd like you to tell me.” The silence stretches between them, Grantaire trying to put into words how he's feeling, to tell someone what happened and that it was indeed a big deal instead of laughing it off and burying it like usual. Enjolras is just watching him with reassurance and patience.

“Look, R, I get it if you don't really want to do this. I won't be upset with you. I'm sorry to have sprung it on you the way I did, and I regret the way I brought it up. There's really no pressure here.” And well, that's interesting to Grantaire. He spends much of his time with top-notch subs both in front of the camera and in BDSM clubs. He has his pick of who he wants to do scenes with...and he chose Grantaire. His self-esteem might be a bit better than it was prior to his sobriety, but a year of believing he can be a better him cannot undo a lifetime of being told he was not good enough. Being a regular porn actor has helped a bit also because he must be at least moderately not-ugly if people keep asking him to be in their pornos.

But still. After _years_ have passed, Enjolras came to him and asked him if he'd want to do a scene with him.

Grantaire realizes that throughout this entire thought process, Enjolras has been quietly watching him. And he is now frowning at him.

“It's okay if—,” Enjolras starts.

“Oh for fuck's sake, Enjolras, stop with the even-voiced, caring, pre-scene dom routine, okay?” Grantaire says, not yelling, but definitely confrontational. He unfolds his legs and sits up straighter. “I still remember how this goes, I just had to work it through in my head. If you really need to know,” and Grantaire knows he does, it's emotional safety 101, “then I will tell you. And yes, I want to do this if for no other reason than to prove to myself that I still can.” The surprised expression Enjolras held when Grantaire cut him off has once again devolved into a frown, but less of one than before.

“Okay then, whenever you're ready.” Grantaire stands up. He thinks standing up is a better choice for a story of this caliber.

“You know how I feel about water, right?” Enjolras nods, his brows furrowed. “Yeah, beat me, shock me, burn me, tie me up in any manner you deem fit, but do not immobilize me in water or put water on my face or frankly, no kinky shit near water. That is like one of my three no-no's.” He's rambling. It's okay. He learned long ago that his rambles do actually get to the point if you give them enough time.

“The shoot was with someone I'd only met briefly before. There was a blindfold from the very beginning. Even before they tied me into position. It was odd, but I was okay with it. The first part went well; I was some kind of bad guy they caught and was intimidating, same old tired shit. They untied me and let me walk around a bit. Normal. The dom joked that the second part was gonna be intense and that I should get ready, but then he laughed, y'know? Like a joke.” See? This ramble was definitely going somewhere.

“They did the blindfold thing again right as I laid down on the table, and we were supposed to do the interrogation part. The camera was supposed to follow us as he pushed me down the hall on the table to the interrogation room. I assumed it was just a room with a table full of sex toys and a big window, but it wasn't.” Grantaire's voice is getting a bit high pitched. Enjolras is sitting exceptionally still now. Grantaire takes a moment to breathe and try to stop freaking out like a soldier with PTSD. He's feeling a bit ridiculous about the whole thing. He starts again at a normal, calmer pace.

“He used a flogger and a cattle prod for awhile and then started talking about water and how electricity and water didn't mix. Then they put the table down in a pool of water with only my head above it. I, fuck. I lost my shit, E. I shouted red until my voice was hoarse, but the scene went on until the dom came. I'm not even sure if he came on me or what. I'm kind of hazy on the details near the end.” He sits down and takes a few steadying breaths. In and out. Inhale and exhale. Then he looks at Enjolras.

If there was ever a question of whether Enjolras was an actual avenging angel or not, this moment would tip the scales toward yes, actual angel. His face is red, screwed up with anger. His hands are shaking, squeezing into fists over and over again. If cartoon steam poured out of his ears, Grantaire wouldn't even be surprised. Enjolras closes his eyes and counts. To a hundred.

Now, Grantaire doesn't feel like the ridiculous one.

When Enjolras opens his eyes, he still looks angry, but not murderous. Well, mostly not murderous.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks when he still doesn't speak.

“Who was it?” Enjolras is speaking very quietly.

“Huh?” Grantaire says, eloquently.

“Who was the dominant who took advantage of you?”

“Um, I'm not going to tell you. It looks like you might go murder him.”

“Grantaire! Why are you not more upset about this? This guy, the people in charge of the shoot, they took advantage of you! They broke every single rule we keep. They need to be stopped so they don't do this shit to anyone else.” Enjolras is breathing heavily and looking at Grantaire with such anger and sadness that Grantaire just can't handle this.

“They _aren't_ doing it anymore, E. I dug into the owner of the company and found out he'd been less than honest about his taxes for, like, twelve years. I made an anonymous tip. Once the feds started doing some digging they found a ton of other shit. They haven't been in business for a couple years now.”

“But, you,” Enjolras starts.

“I can fight my own battles, Enjolras. I dropped out as a sub and went entirely dom because I can be the one to be trusted, but _my_ trust was shot.” They just stare at each other for a few long moments. Grantaire is working up to asking the question he's been curious about since Enjolras brought up this idea. He has no fucking clue what Enjolras is thinking. His face is doing some weird thing where it's unsettled and frowning, but not exactly angry anymore. Grantaire decides to go for it.

“Why did you ask me? If you've got an itch for a walk down memory lane, you can have any sub you could ever want, hell you could've asked Courf and he would have come back, but you chose me. Why?” That brings a smile to Enjolras' face. Which is infinitely better than that strange, vaguely constipated look he was wearing before.

“R, it is no secret amongst our friends that I like you. You just never seemed interested in me in that manner.” And, okay. Grantaire is going to need a second or two to process that.

“ _What?_ ” Maybe he's going to need a bit more than a few seconds.

“You didn't know?”

“Fuck no, I didn't know. Seriously? How was I supposed to know?” He's incredulous, but he's delighted. So he laughs. Which makes Enjolras nervous and his smile reflects that in the tightness around the corners of his mouth.

“No, man, I'm not laughing at you, really,” Grantaire chokes out, because really he can't stop laughing now. Enjolras likes him as _more_ than a friend and has for _years_ and thought that Grantaire wasn't interested. He giggles like a child. Enjolras is just staring at him now, his smile vanished. His expression is flickering somewhere between mild amusement, fear that he is being made fun of, and worry that Grantaire is experiencing a stroke. Well, probably not that last one, but if he doesn't stop laughing soon, Grantaire himself might start to worry that he is having some sort of catastrophic, brain-related event.

After another two minutes, he does manage to stop laughing and wipes the tears from his eyes. Again, Enjolras has the patience of a saint and is just sitting there. Waiting.

“Enjolras. I swear I wasn't laughing at you. It's just that. You're...,” Grantaire makes a sweeping motion with his hands, trying to encompass everything that Enjolras is because he's failing to do that with his words, “you. And me, well. I'm good at a few things, and okay at a few more, but that's about the extent of my capabilities.” And now, Enjolras is starting to look angry again. Well, no, not angry. Determined.

“You are spectacular, Grantaire. You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. You're generous and artistic, and you pay attention to people when they talk to you in a way that most others don't care to. You can remember things you've read and heard word for word, but you can't remember a one-page script to save your life. You are a most infuriating fatalist tipping toward nihilism, but you can back up any of your arguments on the spot with sources that are so perfect they seem made up. But they're not. I've checked.” He's speaking very quickly now, voice increasing in volume. Grantaire doesn't believe a word of it, but the way Enjolras is saying it makes him keenly aware that Enjolras believes it wholeheartedly and infallibly.

“I used to think that your public persona was just that, a persona, but it's not. It's actually real and complex and contradictory and completely fucking brilliant.” He takes a breath, and Grantaire just looks at him in awe. Most of the time, the black, self-deprecating humor would be spilling out of his mouth by now. Word vomit to cover up the positive things someone is saying about him since he knows, inherently in his gut, that they aren't true. He's just very good at running his mouth. It's not a talent. It's an inflammatory reaction to spending most of your life being ignored.

But this is Enjolras. He's been at least slightly in love with him since he met him the first time he signed up for a full scene as a sub at Fetish. He had been sitting on set, trying to memorize a terrible script when some gorgeous god incarnate walked in and sat down beside him. He'd introduced himself and done a thorough run-through of his limits and asked about Grantaire's. The conversation had then shifted into inquiries about their personal lives, likes, dislikes, and their first argument—fate vs. hope. It was all very first date like and fun in a way that Grantaire had never experienced on a first date. He never had gotten around to learning his few lines, but they improvised pretty well together until the scene devolved past a thin attempt at real-life possibilities.

“I think I fell a little in love with you on that first day when you quoted Kant, Rousseau, and Grover all in the same argument.” And that's it. Grantaire's brain is offline. Fried. Please try again later. No one home here. Please leave a message after the beep. And, since his brain is not working, he can't be blamed for the way he leans forward and presses his lips against Enjolras'.

Enjolras immediately responds and runs his hands through Grantaire's hair, tugging gently against the inky strands. Grantaire is gripping Enjolras' shoulders tightly because he isn't sure this is real and Enjolras might evaporate if he lets go.

Life is weird sometimes. That's the last thought Grantaire gets out before Enjolras slips his hands under Grantaire's shirt and presses his fingers against the warm skin of his back, and Grantaire's brain is just beyond thinking about things. He is _feeling._ He can taste Enjolras as he explores Grantaire's mouth with his tongue, not at all tentative or shy. He can tell that Enjolras has exactly zero submissive inclinations.

Which, really, suits Grantaire just fine. Every inch of skin that Enjolras grazes his hands over feels as if it's been set on fire. Every breath he drags into his lungs is nothing but _Enjolras_ , and it is so, so good.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Grantaire breaks the kiss, still rubbing his fingers against the skin at the back of Enjolras' neck. Enjolras mouth is swollen and red lips plump and fucking obscene. His eyes are lust-filled and his chest heaves with the need for oxygen.

“How long is Combeferre going to be out?” Grantaire manages to ask.

“Until morning.” Enjolras smirks.

“Bed?” If Grantaire doesn't get to touch this man and be touched by this man tonight, he might actually die. He hadn't realized how touch-starved he has been until he got a taste of Enjolras. Not in a club full of people dressed in fetish gear, not in front of a camera and room full of crew members. Just them. Together. Because they both are kind of in love.

At this point, Grantaire realizes that he never told Enjolras how he feels, but Enjolras has already pulled him to his feet and is dragging him down the hallway to his bedroom. He supposes he will have to wait until after and just try to _show_ him how he feels in the mean time.

Once they get to Enjolras' room, Grantaire's shirt is swiftly removed, followed by his pants, Enjolras' shirt and pants, and Grantaire's boxers.

This all happens in about sixty seconds, and Grantaire finds himself shoved on his back on an extremely plush, comfortable bed. But the important part is that there are very full, red lips wrapped around his cock and hands holding his hips down. Enjolras' mouth is hot and wet and perfect. He feels the head of his cock hit the back of Enjolras' throat, and Enjolras is _humming,_ and the vibrations feel like they are shaking his very core.

This. Is. Heaven.

He has his hands fisted in blonde hair, trying very hard not to pull out said hair. Enjolras has his eyes open and upturned so that he can watch Grantaire, and this is just too much. The best blowjob he has ever had, hands fucking down. And Grantaire has had a ton of blowjobs in his life. Probably at least two a week for the past six years. Then, as Grantaire is mentally trying to calculate how many blowjobs that is to keep from coming in thirty seconds, Enjolras smirks, actually fucking smirks at him around the dick in his mouth, and hollows his cheeks as he sucks and runs his tongue up and down the underside of Grantaire's cock.

“Enjolras, E, I'm gonna, stop, I'm gonna come if you—,” Grantaire manages to stutter out, before coming down Enjolras' throat so hard that he might black out. He thinks that two minutes from start to finish should be embarrassing for him, but if the subject comes up, he'll just blame Enjolras. That was a blowjob with a fucking purpose.

When he comes back to himself, Enjolras has taken his underwear off and is rubbing his hard cock against Grantaire's thigh.

“Can I fuck you?” Enjolras whispers into his ear. And okay, the answer is going to be yes. Grantaire doesn't always enjoy being fucked. Fingers are fine because prostate stimulation will always be a good thing, but full on, dick-in-the-ass fucking, well. That's a thing for which he has to be in the mood. Also, being a sub in porn flicks for so long made him good at taking it, and if there was ever one person who had made him like it on camera, it was Enjolras, but it'd been a very long time since anything had been in his ass.

But, this is Enjolras. And Grantaire wants Enjolras inside him. This is them on their own in his bedroom. And maybe it is his orgasm-addled brain or maybe it's the gorgeous face with the filthy grin looking at him expectantly—he'll probably never know—but okay. Yes. He's saying yes.

“Yeah, you can fuck me.”

“You sure?” The cock rubbing against him stops and Enjolras puts on his serious face for a second. Constant consent is a thing for him. Grantaire finds it endearing.

“Positive. But it's been awhile.” Enjolras grins again, lopsided and mischievous.

“I'll be gentle.”

“I doubt you know how.”

“I'm going to prove you so wrong.”

And he does. By the time Enjolras has Grantaire's legs bent up and has worked three fingers into him, tears are flowing from his eyes, his cock is hard again and leaking, and he is _begging_. He hears rather than sees—because he is just too fucking blitzed to focus his eyes on anything right now—Enjolras roll a condom on and hears the snick of the lube bottle once more, and then he feels Enjolras rub the head of his dick against his ass. His mind registers that this is the part where he usually loses interest, but hopes he doesn't this time. Right now he could probably cut diamonds with his dick because it is so painfully hard, so that bodes well for this particular instance of ass fucking.

“Any time you want me to stop, just say so. It's fine.” Grantaire rolls his eyes and waves a hand at him telling him to get on with it. Enjolras slides into him so slowly that he actually finds himself trying to scoot downward on the bed to make him go faster, but his hips are being held immobile in a vice-like grip.

“Ah, Grantaire, you feel so fucking good, jesus.” The stretch is just as he remembers it. Strange and slightly uncomfortable, but watching Enjolras' face scrunch in pleasure is worth it. Plus, he's still ridiculously turned on.

Enjolras slides in slowly but doesn't stop until he's fully inside Grantaire.

“You okay?” Enjolras asks, voice strained, clearly fighting the instinct to just fuck Grantaire until he comes.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, relaxing himself and getting used to the fullness. “You can move.” Enjolras keeps one hand on Grantaire's cock, loosely pumping him and starts thrusting slowly but harshly. It doesn't hurt, he was thoroughly prepped, but it isn't really good either. He knows Enjolras will be able to tell, and if he doesn't speak up soon, Enjolras will stop of his own free will, but before he can utter a single syllable, Enjolras snaps his legs up, bending him nearly in half and changes the angle of his thrusts.

Grantaire sees stars. He doesn't know what's different about this particular time, but something is. He's been in this position before, been in it with Enjolras even, but it has _never_ felt like this before. Jolts of pleasure are shooting around inside him with each thrust and he is not even equipped to deal with this.

“I want you to come for me. Just like this. With my hand on you and my cock inside you. Come for me, Grantaire.” Enjolras' voice is low and dirty and just how Grantaire remembers it. It's glorious.

“Jesus fucking, holy god, fuck, oh my god,” Grantaire babbles breathlessly. Every one of Enjolras' thrusts are hitting his prostate and sending shocks up his spine until he thinks he can see fireworks behind his eyelids. He is keeping up a litany of curses and sacrilegious mumbles while Enjolras is whispering to him to _come on, R. Come for me. You look so beautiful laid out under me, taking my cock and begging for it. Come for me._

What else can he do but obey? He comes over Enjolras' hand and definitely does lose some time afterward this time. Enjolras is still thrusting into him, more sharply and with less rhythm when he is aware of himself again. It doesn't last for much longer, though. Enjolras comes with an elongated groan of _'fuuuuck'_ , and releases Grantaire's legs to rest back down on the bed, giving his back a reprieve. Enjolras is leaning with his fists in the bed on either side of Grantaire's hips breathing hard and trembling. He slides the condom off with practiced ease and tosses it to the trash bin in the corner.

Grantaire finds himself being cuddled with his head tucked under Enjolras' chin and his face pressed into the sweaty junction of his neck and shoulder. They don't talk. Not for a long time. They just drift and absently run fingers through hair and hands over warm skin.

When Grantaire wakes up from a light doze, the room is completely dark. The sun went down completely while they slept. Enjolras is snoring lightly against the top of his head and is hugging Grantaire to him like a human-sized teddy bear.

“E. Enjolras,” he whispers.

“Ya, hmm,” Enjolras replies in the most ineloquent thing Grantaire has ever heard him say.

“I'm gonna have to go soon. I have a photo shoot early.” He kind of hates that he has to say that. The teenager in him snorts at his responsible adultness.

“Okay, I'm up.” And he is. Enjolras sits up against the headboard and yawns, stretching his body from fingers to toes in a feline-esque manner. Grantaire also sits up and wishes he had a cigarette.

“So, that was the first time I ever came while being fucked. Congrats on that, man.” Enjolras laughs quietly and rests his head against Grantaire's shoulder. The silence isn't awkward like it seems it should be. It's nice and comfortable and relaxing. But Grantaire is a mouthy guy, and he can't leave it like that for long.

“Are we gonna have a conversation about what this means or what this makes us or something else to make it awkward?”

“Well, I think we should, minus the awkward part.”

“Okay, you go first.”

“Well, I like you at the very least and have for a long time. I got the impression that you did too, but I don't want to be presumptuous.”

“Of course not,” Grantaire chuckles.

“But if you did feel the same, I would like to try dating or whatever you want to call it. Exclusively, outside of work.”

“How are you able to take something like figuring out what we are to each other after we have fucked and cuddled and make it as efficient and business-like as a financial meeting?”

“It's a gift, I suppose,” Enjolras shoots back dryly. Grantaire hums his agreement.

“Well, I agree with you, about the dating thing, but I was kind of hoping it'd be more dramatic or something.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint. I must have used all of my theatrics while fucking you. I'll try to save some for the pillow talk next time.” Grantaire tackles him into the bed and kisses him languidly until they're both sleepy again.

“So, we should talk about what your limits are and what you want out of this shoot we're doing,” Enjolras says groggily.

“Go to sleep, Enjolras.” He does. Grantaire follows soon after.

Grantaire is an hour late to his photo shoot the next morning and only the tiniest bit apologetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next comes the shoot! :)
> 
> If you have suggestions or praise or criticism or just want to say hi, feel free to comment. My tumblr can be found [here](http://www.agentxinfinity.tumblr.com).


	2. The Break Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first scene of the shoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to do the entire shoot in this second chapter, but the first scene kind of got away from me, so now there will be three chapters.
> 
> Also, I added caning to the tags just in case anyone has an issue with it. Enjoy!

Okay, so Grantaire is not freaking out. He did not freak out during their discussion of limits and how they were going to set up their scenes. He did not freak out as he signed the consent form to officially be a sub one more time on camera. Nor did he freak out as he stretched and lubed himself and talked to Eponine on speaker phone about the adoption process she was going through for Gavroche.

Currently, he is kneeling in the floor, still clothed, with his ass sitting on his bare feet against the leg of the chair where Enjolras is sitting. They are about to do their pre-shoot interview, and now he _is_ really starting to freak out. His hands are trembling and he's pretty sure the wide, nervous smile he has been wearing since arriving on set is going to get stuck on his face. Enjolras' hand falls lightly on his shoulder, warmth soaking through the fabric of his shirt. It's steadying. They've already had a conversation about the anxiety this morning.

_“Are you nervous?” Enjolras asks as he pours soy milk on his honey bunches of oats._

_“No,” Grantaire replies absently, staring into his bowl of oatmeal. He's stared so long at it that parts of it are starting to jump out at him like one of those eye trick patterns._

_“Truthfully though?”_

_“Beyond imagination.”_

_“You can still cancel. It's a valid option if you've changed your mind.” It's hard for Grantaire to take him seriously when there's soy milk dripping from his chin and back into the bowl._

_“It's not that kind of nervous, E. I'm just, fuck.” He sighs and tries to get his words to come out in some semblance of intelligible order. “I trust you. Completely. I know you won't do anything to me that I'm against. It's just that it's like my first time being a sub again on camera. The scenes we came up with are sort of vague on your part.” Enjolras tries to speak again, but Grantaire puts a hand up to stop him._

_“I trust you. I just said that, and I do. The problem is that we are not only doing a filmed scene for which we are going to ask money, but that we are tackling my issues at the same time. I'm nervous about the scene, but I'm also worried about making it look good. I take pride in making my porn top-notch, and I haven't been a sub in a very long time. I'm kinda afraid that I'll giggle uselessly through the entire thing.” Enjolras smirks at him in a way that should not happen when one is holding a bowl of cereal and wearing his wrinkled sweats._

_“Oh, you won't giggle the whole time. I'll make sure of that.” Which makes him kind of hard and tamps down on the unease significantly._

But, now that they are here, doing the joint interview questions, he is feeling apprehensive once again. Upon receiving a 'move along now' hand gesture from the director, Enjolras turns to Grantaire with his winning smile in place.

“So, R, it's been awhile since you've been here with us at Top and Bottom Boys. What brings you back?” Grantaire goes from snickering in his head at the absurd names Fetish comes up with for all their different sites to giving Enjolras an unbelieving stare that he actually asked that question on camera.

Enjolras just smiles at him and inclines his head a bit, waiting for an answer. Such a bastard.

“Well, I am here pretty often, but it is usually me sitting in the chair looking down at someone else,” Grantaire deflects, winking at the camera.

“Yes, but what brings you to the floor side of the chair?” Motherfucking bastard. Grantaire shakes his head and looks at the camera instead of Enjolras.

“Well, you see, I got a call about a week ago from a really attractive blonde guy inviting me to coffee. Once there, the aforementioned blonde proceeded to beg me to come back and be his sub, and I have never been one to deny someone once they've started begging,” Grantaire grins. “Well, not for _too_ long.” Two can play this coy game.

“I don't remember it going that way at all.” Enjolras is stroking his chin and looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Oh well, no matter.” He looks down at Grantaire like a shark scoping out a nice, fat flounder. “I'm not the one who'll be begging today.”

“I...suppose not.” The director is smiling but snapping his fingers at them. _This is nice, but please move it along so we can get to the binding and beating._

“So, how does it feel to be back here as a submissive?”

“It's definitely different. I'm just hoping I do a good enough job to satisfy the viewers out there.” The banter has Grantaire feeling more relaxed.

“You just react to me, and I'll make sure everything is going well. Don't worry about that.” And that right there, that sincerity is what makes people trust Enjolras. “Is there anything you want to ask me before we start?” he asks.

“Uh, no. I'm pretty familiar these days with how things go from that side.”

“Okay then. What do you say if you want everything to stop?”

“Red.”

“And if you only want a break without stopping the scene?”

“Mercy.” That isn't a word Grantaire chose, but it's what is used most frequently. It allows for a reevaluation of the events happening without breaking up the vibe of the scene.

“Alright. Let's get started.” They both smile at the camera and then the director is calling cut. There is a flurry of activity from the crew as they try to get the lighting and sound equipment reset for the first scene. There aren't many in the crew today, most of them are acquaintances of Grantaire's, but only a couple are friends. Bossuet is working one of the cameras today, but Musichetta isn't on the other one. Jehan had done the set earlier, but he had to leave to finish another set on a higher profile shoot.

The room they're in isn't large. It's one of the rooms on the third floor of Fetish's office building. The company bought the building a few years back and repurposed all but the first two floors for shoots. Each floor has a theme with a myriad of variable rooms. Each room is a different décor so any fantasy an actor or director comes up with can be shot.

It was an ingenious plan, and Grantaire was happy he'd been in the planning meeting that day to suggest it.

This room has hardwood floors and lavender walls with recessed lighting around the perimeter that casts a soft glow into the room from the lofty ceiling. One of the light rigs has been hung from the middle of the ceiling with three spotlights pointing downward around a D-ring with a chain hanging from it. The other rig is less intense with only two lights and has been placed directly across from the first. The area between is what Grantaire likes to call PFS. Prime Flogging Space. There are heavy velvet curtains draped elegantly across two walls. The other two walls house the doors and the crew respectively. It is a very nice set up. There are even purple and white flowers in a vase on the table in the corner.

Of course, the flowers are arranged between safety medical scissors for clothing, a heavy flogger, a bottle of lube, a cane, and a blindfold.

Grantaire can hear someone in the next room finishing a shoot. A table is creaking and someone is being zapped with a cattle prod while being fucked. There is crying and yelling. Earlier it might have unsettled him, but the routine is starting to sink back in to his mind. His pulse is steadier and his hands aren't shaking. Much.

People have stopped walking around the area and are mostly back behind the camera now. Grantaire strips off his shirt and jeans, leaving him in his boxers. One of the sound guys has Grantaire and Enjolras say things to test the microphones as Enjolras expertly winds the rope around Grantaire's wrists and then in between them. The rope is tight but it isn't cutting off circulation to his hands. He is still calm. It's actually kind of settling. Like being buckled into your seat before riding a roller coaster. The energy he's feeling now is mostly positive. Maybe a few jitters.

They kept the premise of the shoot as organic and honest as possible. No elaborate kidnapping or revenge plots. Just a sub who's been away for awhile coming back to a dom. Simple. The positions and restraints are straightforward as well, and the equipment is as ordinary as it comes. This makes it easier. As Enjolras had said in the interview, the only thing Grantaire has to do is listen and react to Enjolras. He doesn't have to worry about getting into a character or keeping up with a storyline. He's not going to be hung sideways by one leg with tons of ropes going every which direction.

This is very much a homecoming shoot. It feels that way anyway.

Enjolras swings the rope through the steel hoop hanging from the chain in the ceiling and just holds it there looking to Grantaire. Grantaire nods and Enjolras pulls on the rope, hoisting his arms above his head, taut and straining. His feet are still touching the floor, but they aren't flat. It helps keep some of the strain off his shoulders, but it still leaves him without all of his balance. In other words, it's perfect.

Enjolras finishes tying off the end of the rope, and they both look to the director who is seated and checking out the view from the monitors. With one last tiny tweak to the camera left's angle, the director counts down to action.

Grantaire breathes and looks at Enjolras, who is now also shirtless and barefoot, but still in his black pants. If Grantaire wasn't tied up and already half naked, he would be busy getting his clothing off and doing the same to Enjolras because he is so utterly gorgeous it makes Grantaire's stomach flutter. He walks to Grantaire and slides a hand down his chest, letting it slip around his left side and to his back as he circles him with an appraising gaze. A few seconds pass and the tips of Enjolras' fingers brush across the back of his neck and disappear. Then Grantaire is shoved forward which has him swinging and scrabbling with his feet for purchase again. By the time he regains his balance, Enjolras is in front of him with his arms across his chest.

“R,” he says lowly in a sort of purr. That voice _does things_ to Grantaire just as it did three years ago. Enjolras is proving to have a phenomenal memory. “Lovely to have you again. It's been a while, hasn't it?” He smiles.

“Yeah, uh. Yes, Sir,” Grantaire stumbles over words that feel odd on his tongue but familiar once they're out.

“That's right, yes, Sir. You remember. I have faith that I can make you remember all sorts of things.” Enjolras is running his nails across Grantaire's chest making sure to graze his nipples every few swipes. “Like, all the ways a flogger can be used,” Enjolras puts his hands around Grantaire's throat and squeezes lightly, “and how freeing it can be to have someone take you apart. What do you think?” He is so close to Grantaire's face now that their noses are mere millimeters apart.

“Yes, Sir.” Grantaire breathes out, leaning forward and trying to kiss Enjolras.

“That's right. Reach for me.” He bites Grantaire's bottom lip and tugs on it painfully, grabbing his cock at the same time and rubbing him through his boxers. Grantaire moves forward as much as he can even after his lip has been released. Enjolras strokes him for a few moments.

“Do you remember what it feels like to be flogged?” Enjolras smiles and tilts his head.

“Kind of. I feel sorta removed from it now, though. Sir.”

“Hmm,” Enjolras hums. With one last press of his hand to Grantaire's cheek, Enjolras turns and goes to the table in the corner, grabbing the blindfold and the flogger.

Enjolras sticks the handle of the flogger in his back pocket and steps behind Grantaire, wrapping the heavy black cloth around his eyes and tying it tightly at the back of his head. The material is so thick and wide that Grantaire can see nothing. His world is completely black and consists of Enjolras' voice and the sound of him brushing his fingers through the tips of the flogger. His skin bursts into gooseflesh in anxious anticipation. And also maybe a little in excitement.

He's hard already, so probably more than a little excitement.

Enjolras brushes the tails of the flogger over Grantaire's skin, down the side of his neck, across his chest and stomach, up his back and down his right arm. His skin tingles everywhere the flogger breezes over his skin. He can hear Enjolras in front of him, feel his breath on his face. Enjolras leans forward and kisses him, invading Grantaire's mouth with his tongue and humming happily when Grantaire allows him dominance without fighting.

Enjolras steps back, and Grantaire tenses, waiting for the smack of the flogger against his skin. It doesn't come. Instead, Enjolras just sweeps the flogger lightly across his chest over and over, building a rhythm but not using any force. That makes it so much worse. The anticipation of when that first real crack will hit him makes his heart speed up. After a minute of this, Grantaire can't hold his smile in for any longer.

“What is it, R?” Enjolras asked, voice clearly amused.

“You aren't beating me with it,” Grantaire says, hunching his shoulders and leaning away. And then adds a late, “Sir.”

“Very astute of you,” Enjolras chuckles. “What, did you think I'd bring you back in after so long and just beat you senseless from the very beginning?” The flogger is still barely catching his skin in horizontal swishes.

“Well, yeah. I did.” Fuck the 'Sir' part. If Enjolras wants that, he'll have to correct him.

“That's exactly why I'm not. I don't want you to expect things. I just want you to,” Enjolras cracks the flogger across the left side of his chest hard enough to hurt, but not much, “ _experience_ them.” Another strip is laid across the other side of his chest, this one leaving a stinging sensation behind. “And since I brought you in here, and you agreed to be my entertainment for the afternoon, you will do what I want you to do and nothing else.” He's hitting a rhythm again, but this time the flogger is singing across Grantaire's skin. He'd forgotten what this feels like. How much it can hurt. Especially when the hits are being placed specifically to catch a nipple every time. “I really like beating you. It turns your skin the prettiest shade of red.” It's kind of hard to think, but Grantaire struggles through the haze to memorize the sound of Enjolras' voice. He forgot how his voice sounded when he was dominating someone.

Anyone with half a brain could tell Enjolras was made for this.

“And don't think I didn't notice the lack of 'Sir' at the end of that last response. You should remember your manners.” Blows are raining down on him in different directions,—three horizontal across the left side of his chest, two vertical down the middle, another few across the right side of his chest—and he can't do anything but _feel._

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire half says, half groans. He begins to relax into the rhythm of the hits. They might come from different directions, but they are in a steady beat. He breathes and stops trying to lean backward.

'That's good, yes, like that.” In his mind, Grantaire can see Enjolras swinging the flogger with one hand back and forth, his free hand catching the tips in the backstroke before swinging them back out. The pain is building now, Grantaire is holding his breath until he remembers that breathing is the key to moving through the pain. Breath-holding is an unconscious act when faced with pain, and mentally forcing himself to inhale and exhale makes the pain ebb and flow in time with his breathing. It can also ease it a bit, _if_ the person flogging you ever gives you a break.

“It takes so much trust to put yourself in this position. Letting me tie you up and take away your vision. Beat you. Own you. It's freeing, but it can be damaging as well, can't it?” Enjolras is still swinging away, biting blows gaining momentum and frequency. Grantaire is trying to breathe and focus on Enjolras' voice, but his body is again leaning backward of its own will.

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire bites out quickly, his jaw tight. His breaths are coming in short pants, and the skin of his chest is on fucking fire. The hits are losing a bit of strength behind them, and they slow down until they completely stop. Grantaire sags in his restraints, letting his head hang now without fear of getting hit in the face. Not that Enjolras would do that, but it still seems like a precarious position to put himself in when someone is literally beating him inches from his upturned face.

Suddenly, Enjolras is pressed against his back, arms wrapping around him and squeezing. He sets his chin on Grantaire's shoulder and Grantaire can feel him grin against his neck. Enjolras' hands are rubbing his abused chest, pressing and scraping nails harshly. Grantaire lets out a cry of 'Ahh, ahh, ah' in response. “Mmm. So much trust. Trust that I won't seriously injure you or lie to you.” Enjolras bites him at the junction where neck meets shoulder and Grantaire jerks, losing his balance for a split second. His heart rate is starting to jump again, not from pain, but unease. He doesn't want to talk about this here, like this.

“And all it takes to bring that crashing down is one act.” Enjolras steps away from Grantaire again, pushing him lightly as he does. He hears the flogger hit the ground at his feet, and then Enjolras is across the room at the table. Grantaire can hear something being picked up and brought back to him.

“Spread your legs.” Grantaire feels Enjolras' hand on his hip briefly and then it's gone. “Hold still.” Enjolras begins cutting his boxers off him, and in a few quick cuts, pieces of fabric are being pulled from his legs, leaving him to feel the cool air against his newly bared skin.

“Now then, turn around and show me that wonderful ass of yours. He smacks Grantaire on said ass as he turns. “Stop.” Grantaire does. His arms are starting to ache from strain, and his fingers are tingling with the beginnings of numbness. For a moment, the only noise in the room is Grantaire breathing. He's trying to listen for any signs of what is going to come next, but Enjolras is very good at moving silently when he wants to.

“One act and that trust is shattered.” A hard thwak echoes against the high ceiling a split second before Grantaire's brain can process the sting across his shoulders. Before he can take another breath, another lash has been laid upon his bare ass. This continues for awhile, hits raining down on his ass and upper back in alternating but seemingly random order. Before long, his entire back side feels like it's been laid open. He's starting to sweat and groan as Enjolras keeps going, faster and rougher until Grantaire knows he's just swinging the flogger in one continuous back and forth motion.

“If you want the flogger to stop, you know what to do.” Enjolras is trying to prove to him that if he says 'mercy' he'll get a break. That Enjolras will stop and not ignore him. But, he wasn't _really_ worried about that. Not with Enjolras and especially not after they've spent an entire two weeks spending more time together than apart. He mostly just doesn't want to talk about trust and those who break it when there is a fire burning up the skin on his back. Enjolras has slowed a bit, but he's focused only on two areas at the top of his back. He's hitting them over and over, and Grantaire knows those spots are bright red and angry right now.

He keeps breathing. To him, this is a test of wills. Grantaire might be the most stubborn person on the planet next to Enjolras, and Enjolras should have known that.

“I'm not going to say it,” Grantaire grits out with clenched teeth. This is turning into more of a clashing of pigheadedness than a submissive being dominated. He would ponder on where he lost his well-behaved, if mouthy, sub side if his back wasn't currently being thrashed.

“Oh, are you challenging me? That's cute, but it's not going to get you anywhere.” Enjolras' amusement is clear in his voice. He did know this would happen. The lashes are getting a bit lighter, not much, but enough that Grantaire can think straight. He's still groaning and hissing in pain, but he is also grinning because this is kind of fun. The flogger gets dropped again and strong hands spin him back around to face the room and the cameras. Enjolras presses against his front this time and _digs_ his fucking nails into his upper back and scrapes them downward.

Grantaire can't help it, he lets out a cry of, “Ahh, fuck!”

“Does that hurt?” Enjolras murmurs into his ear. This...this is where Grantaire actually fucking thinks about what is happening. He is subbing again. He is a switch. There's a reason why having his hands bound and chained made him feel more secure. This is something he enjoys.

But, he's still Grantaire, and he's going to fight against giving in here.

“Fucking hell. Yes. Yes, Sir, it hurts.” He tells the truth, addresses Enjolras correctly, but can't help putting a bit of snark into his tone.

“Oh, this is going to be such a fun day. I'm gonna break you down so beautifully,” Enjolras says, genuinely delighted. He is being spun again, but not all the way. His hands are numb, but his brain is clearing. “Look at all these wonderful marks on your back,” Enjolras says, smacking him with the palm of his hand right where he's hurting the most.

“Arrgh, fuck, fuck,” Grantaire growls.

“I think I prefer your skin all red and sore. It changes color so nicely.” Enjolras is moving around behind him, shuffling things around. Once again, the unknowing is giving Grantaire a nervous flutter in his stomach. He hears Enjolras return and he stands in front of him.

“Open your mouth,” he instructs. Grantaire smirks but then he obeys. Something hard, thin and cylindrical is placed between his teeth like a dog bone. “Can you tell what this is, R?” Grantaire slides his tongue across the surface. It's smooth and flexible, but sturdy. It's the cane. He knew it was coming, but it still tightens the tension in his muscles.

Grantaire nods.

“Good. Keep it in your mouth.” Enjolras grips Grantaire by the shoulder with one hand and uses the other to start lightly stroking his cock again. In the onslaught of the flogger, he'd gone soft, but with Enjolras' hand on him, that changes quickly. He tries and fails to stifle a moan behind the cane.

“I love how responsive you are.” Another moan is all Grantaire can manage as Enjolras slides his thumb over the head of his cock. Enjolras is touching him, his skin is prickling with a stinging pain and he is blindfolded. He can smell Enjolras' shampoo, feel his warm breath across his face, and he can feel himself slipping into a more submissive mindset even against his will. He is getting lost in Enjolras, in the conflicting sensations coming from all around him.

“Thank you, Sir,” Grantaire mumbles around the cane as best he can. Enjolras' hand disappears from his shoulder and then he feels a tongue run up the underside of his dick.

“Mmm. See? Rewards are given when you're good.” And then Enjolras is blowing him, his hand rolling Grantaire's balls lightly. This goes on for a few minutes with Enjolras never leaving his hands in the same place for long—fingers pressing against his perineum, palms kneading his ass, hands wrapping around the base of his cock. It's a lazy blowjob, light and teasing, but it is _so fucking good_.

Enjolras pulls off him with a last, glorious suck on the head of his cock and then the cane is being removed from his mouth. Enjolras grabs his jaw and kisses him hard, his tongue exploring Grantaire's mouth. Just as he's relaxing into Enjolras' body, he hears a sharp whistle and then pain, bright and sharp, explodes across his ass. He gasps and makes a quick surprised 'oh!' noise around the probing tongue in his mouth.

The stinging gets worse for a few seconds, but lessens as he breathes. He does really enjoy pain, but being beaten for the first time in years is kind of short circuiting his brain. He is still fighting the urge to give in completely. He is very used to feeling in control these days, and right now, he kind of feels like if he were untied, he'd spin into oblivion, and he doesn't like it.

Enjolras pulls back and strokes a hand through his hair, pulling his head back. He can feel the cane against his lower back where Enjolras is gripping it and pulling Grantaire against him.

“I'm going to give you eleven more lashes with this cane to make it an even twelve. You're going to count them out, and if you make it to the end, I'll let you come.” Grantaire nods and lets out a shaky breath.

“Use your words, R.” Enjolras steps away and waits. Grantaire can feel himself starting to get tremors in his limbs, both from exhaustion and nerves. It's like his body is physically fighting alongside his mind against submitting.

“Yes, Sir,” he says quietly, his heart thudding away beneath his ribs.

“Give me a color,” Enjolras orders, obviously noticing the changes in Grantaire's demeanor. He thinks about it. Go on or leave? Despite part of him wanting to stop, another part also wants to finish this. To know that he can still do it and if it can be good for him like it used to be. The latter part wins out, but he's hoping Enjolras has some kind of trick up his proverbial sleeve that will help him along.

Or, maybe he should just get over all the bullshit and let Enjolras give him what he knows he needs. He closes his eyes beneath the blindfold and nods to himself, taking a couple deep breaths.

“Green.” Enjolras doesn't need anything more than that. He turns Grantaire so that the cameras can get the best angles and starts. He can hear the cane coming at him and the impact. It makes a deceptively soft sound as it causes such pain. “One,” Grantaire cries out.

Another hit right below the first on his ass. “Two.” Three and four fall below the first two and come quickly together. Grantaire's eyes are squeezed shut and he is so close to falling into that space. The one where he lets everything go and stops thinking. Just feels and listens.

“Five,” Grantaire whispers after the next blow. Enjolras is crossing the lines now, making a slanted crosshatch on his ass. He remembers the patterns Enjolras likes to make.

Strikes six and seven take his voice away and he whimpers, fucking whimpers against the unyielding blows.

“You're doing well, R. Count those two.” Enjolras' voice is comforting and deep. He places a hand on the small of Grantaire's back briefly as Grantaire chokes out, “Six. Seven, Sir.” At the 'Sir', Enjolras must know how on the edge he is, and as he had said before, he was going to break Grantaire down completely. Number eight sings through the air and smashes into Grantaire's ass with a harsh smack. He lets out a sob as tears wet the blindfold. “Give in, R. This is what we're here for. Give yourself to me.”

“Eight,” he says, shakily, his body taut and muscles clenched.

“Stop holding on so tightly to your control. You don't need it here,” Enjolras enunciates every word perfectly. He's running the cane up and down Grantaire's back teasingly, making him shiver. “Let. Go.” Nine falls hard on the word 'let', and he lets out a cut off yell, but something is changing. He's remembering this feeling from before. The pain is still there, but he's focused completely on Enjolras. 

“Nine, Sir,” Grantaire says, voice still pinched with pain, but softer. He did it. He let go. Nothing exists in his world but Enjolras and what Enjolras does and says. It is so simple.

“Yes,” Enjolras breathes out. Grantaire feels the tension in his muscles start to drain away. Number ten rocks him forward and tears start to come more readily.

“Ten, Sir,” he breathes softly. Eleven is no softer than any of the others, but it isn't especially punishing either. He can hear the cane drop to the floor as Enjolras steps up in front of him and pulls his blindfold off. He blinks a few times, blinded at first by the bright lights after spending the last however long in the dark. Then Enjolras' face comes into view.

“Eleven, Sir.” Grantaire's voice is wrecked like he's been screaming for days. Enjolras smiles and wipes the wetness from Grantaire's eyes. “So good.” Grantaire closes his eyes and leans his head into the hand Enjolras places on his cheek. “I think you deserve to come now.” He puts a hand in front of Grantaire's mouth. “Lick.” Grantaire does. Enjolras moans and closes his eyes.

When his hand is wet enough, he wraps it around Grantaire's cock and strokes, tightly. At some point in the last few moments, Grantaire got hard again. He doesn't know when or why or what the fuck is even going on beyond Enjolras with his hand on Grantaire's cock. But this, this is so fucking good, he can barely keep himself upright. His hands and arms have long gone achey and numb, and his legs are shaking, but as Enjolras strokes him, he is speaking to him in low tones. Enjolras' lips are at Grantaire's ear and he is whispering things to him too quietly for the microphones to record. These praises are just for Grantaire.

“You did so well. I'm so proud of you. I want you to come for me. Come for me, my R. Come,” Enjolras is murmuring the same things over and over, but it doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters right now. Grantaire can feel his orgasm building in his belly and moans, throwing his head back.

“Please, Sir, please don't stop. Oh my god, fuck. Yes, please don't st--,” Grantaire babbles unable to keep his mouth shut until, with a twist of Enjolras' wrist, Grantaire comes, spilling over Enjolras' hand and their chests and the floor.

And Grantaire, unable to hold himself up at all, sags against Enjolras, completely spent. He is hanging completely by his arms and his knees are bent, toes brushing the floor.

“Thank you, Sir.” And Enjolras smiles at him blindingly as he steps backward out of the frame. The camera gets close to his face, but he has no energy to do anything other than close his eyes and pant.

“Cut,” the director calls, and suddenly Enjolras is there, wrapping an arm around his torso and lifting him up enough to untie the rope with his other hand. The next thing Grantaire knows, he is being cradled from behind, and they are sitting in the floor. His arms are aching and tingling, they'd probably shake if he tried to do anything rigorous, but it's not too bad. A blanket has been draped over Grantaire and a glass of water is sitting on the floor beside him. Enjolras is rubbing small circles against Grantaire's scalp with his fingertips.

“You did so well, Grantaire. So, so good. I figured I'd have to beat you bloody to convince you.” By now, Grantaire is coming back to himself.

“So did I,” he admits with a chuckle.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to lay down for a week. On my stomach.” He honestly doesn't know how he's going to get through another two scenes. He didn't think Enjolras would make him come in the first scene even though it was labeled a possibility when they were coming up with the plans.

“Hm. Do you have one more scene in you?” Grantaire turns his head to look at Enjolras and raises an eyebrow.

“I do. But just one.” Enjolras waves the director over, and he comes and sits in front of them. They talk a bit, trying to rearrange the second and now last scene to be a mix of the two that were left. While they do this, Grantaire drinks the water and lays his head back against Enjolras' shoulder languidly and drifts. He does feel very, very good about that first scene even though his back and ass are killing him.

Letting himself go, shedding all the control and doubts put him back in the place he used to enjoy back when subbing was a fun experience. He smiles with his eyes closed and lets himself listen to the conversation happening around him. For the first time since all this started, he feels completely at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was probably not what a lot of you were expecting, but in my head, Grantaire needed to break down some of his walls before he could truly enjoy the experience of subbing again as he had before.
> 
> If you see mistakes, they are mine. Point them out if you feel like it.
> 
> There will be one more chapter of this (I mean it this time), but I have side stories kicking around in my head, and, if anyone wants to prompt something from this 'verse (should I call it a 'verse??), feel free. I'm actually really enjoying this! Thanks again for the comments and kudos from chapter one. You guys are awesome. :)
> 
> My tumblr can be found [here](http://www.agentxinfinity.tumblr.com).


	3. The Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some added fluff at the end because of course I had to go and make back stories for these two idiots, and they needed to talk out their feelings.
> 
> So, I honestly don't know what to tag this as now...walking on someone? Like in the literal sense. So, if you have issues with that, I'm sorry for whatever made you feel that way, and also this part might not be for you. (And if you didn't know or didn't guess, Fetish is based off Kink.com. I think I forgot to mention that previously.)
> 
> Enjoy!

After a break for lunch, which was unofficially a break for Grantaire to regain his wits, Grantaire is back in the same lavender room, which has been altered a bit in the interim, drinking from a bottle of water and staring at the table in front of him.

The carpenters kept on Fetish's payroll are quick and thorough. A table, more of a platform really, has been installed in the middle of the room. It's set about waist-high, as are most flat surfaces in porn, but has a set of steps surrounding the three sides where Grantaire's legs will not be. There is a steel bar bolted to the top for his hands, and another longer one across the ceiling, running the complete length of the table. It is, if possible, even simpler than the first scene's set up.

Enjolras and Grantaire had decided on specifics for each scene before the shoot, but now that they are smashing two scenes together, Grantaire isn't sure which parts will be happening. He was kind of blissed out for that discussion, and when Enjolras asked him over their lunch of catered cold cuts and chips, his emboldened brain had told him to say, “Surprise me.”

He's not nervous. A few apprehensive butterflies are hanging out in his abdomen now that the orgasmic haze is gone, but all things considered, he's feeling pretty good at the moment.

Enjolras returns to the room and hugs him from behind, his hands clasped around Grantaire's waist. His back stings where Enjolras' shirt rubs the marks left behind by the flogger.

“Are you ready?” Enjolras' hands against his bare skin is helping to tame the butterflies.

“Yep. Then, I'm going home and taking the longest nap that can still be considered a nap.”

“I'm going to take that as a compliment.” Enjolras sounds smug.

“You can take it however you want, your ass is coming with me solely for cuddling purposes. And possibly for food-making purposes.” Grantaire swings Enjolras around in front of him and rests his arms on the blonde man's shoulders.

“I'm going to leave the sexual innuendo in that last statement alone just for your sake.” Grantaire grins and leans in to kiss his lovely new boyfriend, which is a word he has found great satisfaction in saying frequently. When they part, Grantaire smiles and says, “The sacrifices you make are so great, they're going to change the word 'martyr' to 'Enjolras'.”

A throat is cleared from behind the cameras.

“Are you two lovebirds quite done or do we need to postpone the shoot until a later date?” The director sounds stern, but he is smiling at them. As is Bossuet. With reddened cheeks (another set of cheeks in Grantaire's case), they break apart, and Grantaire strips his underwear off before laying down on the table on his back. He hisses quietly at the abrupt chill of the table top on his abused back and ass, but settles quickly, looking at Enjolras for further instruction.

“Just leave your hands at your sides for now. Let your legs dangle off the edge.” Grantaire obeys and watches him take a short length of rope and start winding it around the base of Grantaire's cock. Enjolras strokes it a few times, watching it fill with blood and grow in his hand before grinning, very evilly Grantaire might add, and twisting the rope around his cock four more times, careful to knot it just right with every turn. If Grantaire gets any harder, the knots will bite into the underside of his dick. When Enjolras is finished, there is a rope cage encasing his cock with nothing but the head peeking out. Enjolras flicks his eyes to Grantaire's with a questioning look. Grantaire nods that yes he is fine, if mildly uncomfortable in the crotch region, and lifts his lips in an excited smile. Enjolras steps around to the side of the table and strokes Grantaire's chest as he backs out of frame, signaling that they are ready. Grantaire can hear the swish of a shirt being tugged off and dropped on the floor. The director counts down to action once again, and then Bossuet is sweeping his camera from Grantaire's bent knees up his body and to his face. He fakes a bit of unease at his situation as the camera focuses on his face, but lets his expression fall neutral after Bossuet has moved back to his original position.

Enjolras steps into frame from above Grantaire's head and runs a warm hand down the entire length of his body as he walks to the foot of the table.

“How're you feeling, R?” he asks, tapping his fingers against the rope cage on Grantaire's cock.

“Sore, sir,” he says, willing the blood to flow somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. It is really starting to get snug down there.

“Yes, I'm sure you are.” He smacks Grantaire on the thigh lightly, just enough to surprise him. “Arms up. Hold on to the bar, and do not let go.” Grantaire obediently complies. Enjolras is running his hands up and down Grantaire's thighs, scratching lightly, getting closer and closer to his cock with every swipe. Despite his brain's insistence otherwise, the blood rushes straight to Grantaire's dick, making this whole ordeal about 40% more uncomfortable. Approximately.

He lifts his head and looks at Enjolras questioningly and receives such a terrible smirk that he has to lay his head back down and take a breath to calm himself. The scratchy rope is biting into his cock from all sides, but the knots on the underside are actually painful. The smirk helped none. In fact, it did the opposite of help. Grantaire is sure he knows what word means the opposite of help, but his brain cannot find it at this moment in time.

“Look at me, R,” Enjolras commands. Grantaire snaps his head back up and meets Enjolras' gaze evenly. Then, because he is the devil incarnate, Enjolras leans over and flicks his tongue across the head of Grantaire's cock, making it want to swell even more, but Grantaire doesn't even know if that's possible due to his current _limiting_ circumstances. “Don't look so worried. You're gonna forget all about that pesky erection in just a few minutes.” Another smirk. If he wasn't being filmed right now, he'd tell Enjolras that his face was going to freeze like that. He steels his resolve and lets the side of his mouth away from the camera raise just the slightest bit. Enjolras huffs out a laugh and pats his knee.

“Right then. This is gonna be even more fun than last time.” Enjolras slides out a plank from the underside of the table top for Grantaire to rest his legs down flat. He walks up the steps on Grantaire's right side and takes hold of the bar bolted to the ceiling. Carefully, he places a foot on each side of Grantaire, looking down at him like a hungry lion with a felled gazelle. Lions eat gazelles right? Grantaire can't recall. He is pinned to the spot despite not being physically restrained at all. In many ways, this is worse. He can't pull against anything. He has to consciously remind himself at all times to keep his hands on the bar above his head.

“Keep your legs completely flat and stay as still as you can.” Grantaire knows what is coming, but he remembers enough about this particular form of pain-bringing to know that his mind cannot hold a candle to the sensation of the real thing.

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire replies more from habit than conscious thought. The back of his head is resting against the cool table top, but his eyes, alight with fear and exhilaration, are unwavering from Enjolras.

“Such a good boy.” Enjolras looks downward and smiles at him, his hair partially blocking his face from the camera. He raises an eyebrow at Grantaire and Grantaire nods ever so slightly. Yes, this is okay. Go on.

“Take a deep breath in,” he pauses giving Grantaire time to obey, “and let it out slowly.” As Grantaire lets his chest fall with expelled breath, Enjolras places his right foot on the left side of Grantaire's chest. Muscles flex in Enjolras' arms as he lifts himself up on the bar and places his other foot on the right side of his chest. Enjolras is holding most of his weight with his arms, but he is pressing down just enough that Grantaire's ribcage is depressed slightly. Despite such a small amount of weight on him, it feels impossible for Grantaire's lungs to take in any air. Enjolras' eyes flick up to check Grantaire's hands quickly before looking back down into the brunette's face. The signal to stop when Grantaire is rendered unable to talk, which kind of applies here with the whole 'being unable to breathe thing', is for Grantaire to let go of the bar and wave his hands. That's one of the reasons he isn't tied to the bar right now.

The other reason is that Enjolras knows how hard it is for Grantaire to keep his hands still when they aren't restrained in some fashion and Enjolras is, again, the devil incarnate.

“I wanted to continue our talk on trust, if you don't mind,” Enjolras states, matter-of-factly. He lifts himself up completely with his arms and allows Grantaire to drag a few ragged breaths into his lungs. He wasn't kidding about that hard-on. It is gone, daddy, gone.

The pressure is back again, Enjolras's toes kneading into Grantaire's pectoral muscles. The weight on his chest is part of what makes this torturous, but the bigger part is the pain. Breath play is definitely a green for Grantaire. He enjoys it in its many forms, both on the giving and receiving end. Something he didn't expect the first time, however, is how much it would hurt.

It fucking hurts. Well, of course it hurts, someone is _standing on his chest_. But, for a guy used to floggers, leather straps, and the occasional cane, it was definitely a shock the first time Enjolras had done this.

It isn't any less painful this time around.

“This brings a very intense pain, correct?” Enjolras lifts upward again so Grantaire can answer.

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire pants out, already breathless.

“And it takes only one mistake on my part to do a fair bit of damage to you.” Enjolras steps down again and starts moving his feet around in small circles, and Grantaire lets out an aborted, “Fucking argghh—,” before promptly cutting himself off again. His head is thrown back, and his face feels hot and reddened. Enjolras is taking small steps up and down on his chest so that one side is blissfully unencumbered while the other has even more weight pressing down on it. His brain just doesn't know what to do with that, and he is starting to feel a bit dizzy. “So, you must trust me a great deal, huh?”

Enjolras lifts almost all of his weight off of Grantaire and gently slides a foot down the side of his abdomen to his hip joint where his left leg meets his pelvis. “Yes, Sir, I do,” Grantaire whispers truthfully. The line between R and Jack Mirabeau filming a porno and Grantaire and Enjolras enjoying their kinks together is starting to blur. Grantaire isn't sure if he likes it, but he's really not sure that he doesn't.

Enjolras slides his other foot down as well and spends a few seconds hovering his toes over Grantaire's hips. Then, Enjolras smiles briefly at Grantaire, letting him know that he understands this might be getting a bit personal, and lets some of his weight press into Grantaire.

It feels like the muscles in Grantaire's legs are spasming all at once, and for a split second, he thinks that not being able to breathe might be a better alternative to this. This is completely new. They _had_ talked about Enjolras walking on other parts of him, but Grantaire really didn't think much about it.

This is the fucking worst thing, within his limits of course, that anyone has done to him. He throws his head back and cries out, knuckles white as he grips the hand bar. Enjolras once again kneads his toes into Grantaire's tissues and muscles, keeping his face stern as he assesses the body writhing under him. He raises his voice over Grantaire's pained noises and whimpers. _He is fucking whimpering._

“Trust, when given to the right person, can bring such wonderful things,” Enjolras says. This isn't anything like the building sting of the cane or the swift jolt of an electrical toy. This is just unending pressure on Grantaire's nerve endings, and he might be crying. _Ten minutes_ into this scene, and he is already crying. Enjolras is talking to him and Grantaire can smell his cologne and he is in agony. Once again, his senses are filled with nothing but Enjolras. He couldn't tell you his name right now. “And, as we learned earlier, giving yourself to someone you trust isn't a bad thing.” Enjolras lifts himself up briefly and then rests his feet down on the table beside Grantaire's hips. “Right?”

“Yeah—yes, Sir,” Grantaire fumbles.

Grantaire must close his eyes for a few seconds in relief as the ghost tendrils of pain fade slowly in his hips because the next time he opens his eyes, Enjolras has knelt down astride his abdomen and is wiping the tears from his eyes.

“God, you're so pretty when you cry for me. I should have brought you back sooner. We could have had so many adventures together by now.” He smacks Grantaire's cheek swiftly and then grips his jaw, leaning down and licking a tear trail from his face. “Of course, I like it when you step out of line too.” Grantaire looks into Enjolras' eyes and finds nothing but mirth.

“You like when I'm bad, Sir?” he asks, still panting. Enjolras huffs out a laugh at him.

“Certainly. That means I get to put you back in your place. Which is always fun. Well, for me anyway.” Enjolras gives him a harsh pat on his cheek—not quite a slap, but not very nice either—and stands back up. “So, how much more do you think you can take?”

“I honestly don't know, Sir,” Grantaire answers, happy that his sore ass isn't being pressed into the table under Enjolras' weight anymore. On the other hand, that was probably better than being a human sidewalk.

“Don't worry. You don't have to,” he says, nonchalantly, grabbing onto the bar once more. “I'll know when you've had enough of this. If you're really good for me, you'll be very well rewarded.” Enjolras gives him a lopsided, mischievous smile and sets his feet carefully on Grantaire's chest again. “Promise.”

The next however long, Grantaire couldn't possibly tell, is a head-spinning mixture of pain, oxygen deprivation, and him doubting that Enjolras truly knows when Grantaire's had enough.

But, to be fair, Grantaire would have said enough was before the second session of chest and hip walking.

Tears are running down Grantaire's cheeks and into his ears and sideburns. A thin sheen of sweat is clinging to his body and everything _aches_.

Grantaire can feel himself slipping back into that calm place. His tears have already stopped. Enjolras has been talking to him this whole time, telling him how he is good and beautiful and perfect.

His brain doesn't even have the energy to silently disagree.

Suddenly, there is no more pressure on his chest or hips. He tries to get his breathing under control, but it's still coming in deep pants. Then, there is a slight weight on his stomach and thumbs brushing the wetness from his face.

When he opens his dazed eyes, Enjolras is beaming at him.

“I think it's time for a reward, don't you?”

“Oh thank fuck. Yes. Sir.” Enjolras actually laughs and climbs down to stand at the foot of the table.

“Lift your legs.” Grantaire does, but it puts pressure on his sore joints and muscles and he flinches. Enjolras shoves the board back underneath the table top and pulls on his legs to slide him down a few inches until his ass is right at the edge. His arms are stretched more tightly now since he is still holding on to that stupid fucking bar like he was told. He's had a white-knuckle grip on it now for so long that he is starting to worry that the bar is now a part of him. He flexes his fingers as much as he can while still technically holding on to it to coax some blood back into them.

The pins and needles he gets in return are very unpleasant.

Even more unpleasant is that Enjolras is licking the head of his cock again. It seems that _it_ needs no coaxing to get the blood flowing down there again. The knots are biting into him with renewed purpose as his cock fills and swells. “Legs up, R,” Enjolras instructs. Grantaire obliges and bends his knees up and rests his feet on the corners of the table.

“You've been so good for me today, R. Have I convinced you to come back again?” Enjolras has grabbed the lube that was hiding by one of the table legs and is now circling a slick finger around his exposed entrance.

“Not just yet, Sir,” Grantaire replies, just to be a little shit. He remembers now why he gave so much lip to Enjolras. You might get beaten harder for it, but you also get to come harder.

“Well, I guess I'll just have to,” Enjolras thrusts his finger inside and presses insistently against Grantaire's prostate, “work a bit harder.” Grantaire takes a split second to wonder if Enjolras has memorized where that glorious little bundle of nerves is before he is moaning loudly.

“ _Yes, Sir_ ,” Grantaire hums out. Another finger slips in easily beside the first. Enjolras leans down and laps again at Grantaire's dick around the ropes. The pain from the knots is no longer in the front of his mind, but it's there. It's constant. And everything is perfect.

A third finger slides in wetly and works Grantaire open, every movement at least brushing his prostate. This eliminates the need for him to fake his moans and sighs, even if he is very good at it, thanks very much. But, the real thing is always better. It seems Enjolras is going for realism today.

Grantaire would be proud of his hopelessly idealistic boyfriend if he didn't have said boyfriend's fingers in his ass and tongue on his cock.

“Would you like to come, R?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire looks at him, puzzled. It's a little early for that, right? Enjolras presses all three fingers up and in at the same time, sending sparks of pleasure through Grantaire's mind. “I said, would. You like. To come?” Enjolras asks again, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of fingers.

“Fuck! Yes, Sir. Yes.” Enjolras nods at him and then says simply, “Then beg me to fuck you,” and keeps fucking him with his fingers. Enjolras uses his other non-occupied hand to stroke his fingertips lightly over Grantaire's cock and the rope surrounding it. Grantaire is pretty fine with whatever happens next, whether it be ass-fucking or not because even with the bound cock, he is ready to come _now_.

“Please, Sir, fuck me, please, oh god. _Ah!_ Yes, right there, oh please _fuck me._ I want to come for you, please. _Please_ , fuck me, Sir.” Right now, Grantaire isn't even sure if he's acting or not. He just wants to come.

“Well, you _do_ beg so nicely. And I did make you cry three times,” Enjolras pauses and looks at the ceiling as if considering his options. He also ceases all movements with his hands, and Grantaire whines. He doesn't buck his hips, though. He does have _some_ manners. Enjolras will take care of him. He knows this. He trusts Enjolras enough to let him literally walk all over him, so he can trust that Enjolras won't leave him wanting.

Enjolras is mean, but he isn't cruel. Well. Not _that_ cruel.

“Alright, my good boy. I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll remember me every time you move for the next week. How does that sound?” Enjolras slicks up his cock and lines it up with Grantaire's hole, gripping his hips tightly.

“Fucking perfect. Sir.” Grantaire grins at him, forgetting for a second that they are actually on camera and shooting a porno.

Then Enjolras thrusts in, slow and deep, until he's completely inside of Grantaire. Grantaire grunts and tries to relax, but, again, he doesn't really enjoy getting fucked in the ass. Enjolras pulls out and thrusts again, this time faster. Grantaire moans all the same and gets a smack on face for it. It stuns him and he snaps his gaze directly to Enjolras.

“Hush. Not like that.” Of course Enjolras knows when he's faking. He's Enjolras.

Enjolras presses his hand across Grantaire's mouth in a nonverbal warning to stop faking it and then starts stroking his cock in earnest over the rope as he fucks him. Grantaire cries out. He's sensitive from the rope rubbing him for so long and Enjolras' teasing ministrations, and any contact, even if it makes the rope chafe more, is overwhelming.

Suddenly, his knees are lifted slightly upward and onto Enjolras' shoulders, and Grantaire loses his breath. He doesn't know what makes this position with Enjolras different from this position with other people, but it is fucking magical and he isn't going to question it. He lets out a surprised shout that quickly turns into a long, loud moan.

“Yeah, just like that. Take my cock, R. God, you feel so good.” Enjolras is babbling. He'd been hard since halfway through the 'walk-on-Grantaire' session. He's close, and there's no one there to tell _him_ he can't come yet. In the meantime, Grantaire's prostate is taking a pounding and his vision is narrowing. He really needs to come. Enjolras fucks roughly into Grantaire for a few more moments whispering, “Yes, yes, fuck R,” before pulling out and coming all over Grantaire's stomach and bruised chest.

Enjolras hums contentedly and runs his hand through the mess on Grantaire's abdomen. This goes on for mere seconds before Grantaire can't take it anymore.

“Please, please can I come now, _please_ , Sir, I can't, _I can't_ ,” Grantaire is half begging and half rambling mindlessly. His cock is throbbing and he is suddenly empty, and he's never experienced this before. In all his years of being fucked, he's never truly enjoyed anyone's dick in his ass, much less felt the urge to beg for it back. He is still talking, words tripping over more words as his chest heaves.

“Shh, shh, R. You're okay. You're gonna come for me, don't worry,” Enjolras' reassurances quiet him, but he is still so on edge that it is starting to ache.

“Please, Sir. _Please_ ,” he begs. Enjolras shushes him quietly and slides his fingers, only two of them this time, back inside Grantaire. Enjolras pulls on the free end of the rope hanging down by his balls and it begins to fall away from the head of his dick to the base. Then, Enjolras is stroking him and rubbing his fingers against his prostate and again, and Grantaire can't _think_. He can't do anything but moan and pant and curse.

“Come for me, R. Come,” Enjolras commands, and Grantaire does. He comes so hard that it takes his breath and makes his head spin. Throughout the entire ordeal, Enjolras continues stroking and pumping.

“That's it. That's a good boy, R. Give me everything you have. I want it all,” Enjolras tells him in a low, calm voice. Every movement Enjolras makes is another spasm, more pleasure until Grantaire is boneless.

“Ahh, fuck, okay!” he cries out. “I can't...I can't anymore. Sir! _Fuck_ , this is too much.” Grantaire's nerve endings feel frayed and raw. Everything feels both undeniably wonderful and painful at the same time.

“You can give more, I know it. I can feel it in you,” Enjolras says, rubbing his fingertips solely on his prostate. He's not even thrusting anymore. Just pressure and slight movements.

“ _Ahhh, fuck!_ ” Grantaire shouts and comes again. Almost nothing comes out of his cock, but he feels it from his toes to the tips of his hair. Enjolras finally stops. He rests Grantaire's legs down until they are once again dangling off the table and leans up to kiss him. It's slow and sloppy and Grantaire can hardly make his tongue do anything. He doesn't even really think he can move any voluntarily moveable part of his body right now.

Enjolras leans away and runs his hand back up Grantaire's body as he steps out of frame once more. Grantaire just breathes.

***

It takes Grantaire an embarrassingly long time to gather enough of his wits to walk to the shower room. If Enjolras hadn't helped him get a robe on, he would still be naked.

Enjolras grins smugly the entire time and doesn't even once try to hide it. They shower each other with minimal speaking. Grantaire feels vulnerable as he always did after a shoot that intense and wants nothing more than for Enjolras to wash him so they can curl up together somewhere and sleep.

But, since this is a _job_ , they still have to do the exit interview.

Still damp-haired and robed, they are back in the lavender room, but this time, Enjolras is sitting in the floor with an arm wrapped around Grantaire's shoulders.

“So, R, how was your day?” Enjolras asks, sincere look of uncertainty clouding his expression.

“It was fantastic. Mostly.” His voice is rough from yelling and crying.

“Okay, so what wasn't fantastic?”

“The part where you walked on me. I liked the place where that pain put me, but the actual being walked on? Nothing but ouch.” Enjolras chuckles and pulls him closer.

“Okay, what was your favorite part?”

“The end. I don't even know what you were doing there, but goddamn, it was crazy. I came twice, I think? I don't even know. You must be a porn wizard.” Grantaire grins at Enjolras and they laugh together. They play the super happy energized porn actors very well when the only thing either of them want to do is lay down and go the fuck to sleep.

“I'll add that to my resume, then. Porn wizard,” Enjolras says, dryly.

“So, what did you like about today?” Grantaire asks, actually curious about the answer.

“Everything. You are so responsive to any type of stimulus, and I love that. It's been a great shoot,” Enjolras replies, a bit of his fake enthusiasm waning into a more reserved sincerity.

“Well, on that note, I think we'll call it a day, guys. Wave bye!” the director calls. They wave like the happy porn stars they are, and promptly slump together against each other right after he calls cut. They just sit there in the floor for a few minutes while everyone is moving around them cleaning up.

After a few minutes, Grantaire lifts his head and turns to look at Enjolras.

“So, we have two options here. We could use one of the quiet rooms here and graze on fruit and bottled water and sleep on a rock hard mattress.”

“Or?” Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Or we could walk a few blocks to the bus stop and then a few more blocks to my apartment and order some Thai food.”

“Those are both terrible choices.”

“What do you propose?” Enjolras thinks on it a moment and looks around the room.

“Bossuet! C'mere,” he waves the man over. Bossuet walks over and smiles down at them.

“You called, oh blonde one?” he says good-naturedly. “And let me just say, I am so glad you two have stopped dancing around each other. I can't believe it took you six years to get your shit together.”

“You can't believe it?” Grantaire questions. He laughs.

“Well, yeah, I can, but it was so irritating watching you both pine while staying somehow completely oblivious idiots.”

“Well, asshole, as a congratulations present, can you give us a ride back to my place? I'm pretty sure walking long distances isn't a thing I can do right now.” Bossuet gives them a look and and then snorts.

“Yeah, I'd say not.”

“Well?” Grantaire waggles his eyebrows at him. “And if you take us to that Thai place on the corner, I'll buy you and Joly and Musichetta dinner too.”

***

Later that evening, Enjolras and Grantaire are cuddled in his bed with emptied takeout boxes balanced precariously on one of his nightstands. They ate and dozed for a while and are now just enjoying the quiet restfulness of lazing around with each other.

“So, is there anything you needed to talk about after the shoot?” Enjolras asks with his head pillowed on Grantaire's chest and his fingers rubbing circles around his bellybutton.

“Like what?” Grantaire asks softly, voice still sleepy.

“Like...if there was anything you didn't enjoy or if I did anything wrong. I don't think I did, but this is your first scene as a sub after...” he trails off. “I just wanted it to be good. And maybe to help you deal with everything you went through.”

“It was good, Enjolras. I remember now what I liked so much about being a sub. It was cathartic. That first scene was exactly what I needed.”

“And the second?” Grantaire hesitates for a second.

“It was intense. I hate that fucking walking thing you do, but your execution of it was perfect.”

“Why didn't you say that when we were planning it out?” Enjolras asks calmly, but he's tensed up. Grantaire huffs out a breath and reaches over to grab a cigarette off the nightstand. He thinks about what to say as he lights it and inhales his first lungful of smoke.

“I think I wanted to prove to myself that I could be a good sub for you. And before you say anything, I know how that's fucked up. I spend my days exactly how you do, as a dom. But, as much as you or anyone tells me I'm good enough to be with you or be friends with them, part of me will never believe it. That's something that's never gonna go away.” Grantaire sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed and smokes for a few minutes. Enjolras lets him. “If that's gonna be a problem for you, you need to leave now. You can't stay with me now and then decide later that you can't take it. It'll break me.”

Warm arms wrap around Grantaire's torso, and Enjolras rests his chin on Grantaire's shoulder. He can feel hot breath on his neck.

“Look at me, Grantaire.” It's not a command now, but a request. Grantaire turns his head and leans back. Enjolras is so beautiful it makes his chest ache. And not just because _someone_ was walking on it earlier.

“You _do_ deserve the friends you have. And me. You're so much more than you know. An artist, a very popular _actor_.” Enjolras smiles at the word. “And you're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. You know three languages and could probably teach college classics courses. You're way smarter than you give yourself credit for. And I have no problem having to remind you of your worth every day. Forever.” For a long moment, Grantaire doesn't say anything. Then he grins around his cigarette.

“Well, maybe we should go on a few more dates before you start throwing around the word 'forever'.” Enjolras smiles brightly and surges forward and kisses him breathless. Grantaire lays back, and Enjolras follows him down.

***

Later still, when the sun has gone down, and Grantaire has given Enjolras a spectacular blowjob and then had the same favor returned, Grantaire gets up and leaves Enjolras asleep in his bed. He grabs his cigarettes and steps out onto the fire escape. As he smokes, he thinks about things. He still has the crippling fear that he'll fuck up and Enjolras will leave him. That he'll slip and fall back into the bottle and disappoint everyone who cares about him. He's always going to feel the need to make up for simply being himself thanks to pretty much everyone in his childhood.

But, as he looks back through the window and sees Enjolras' seemingly innocent face bathed in moonlight, the negativity and self-doubt fall back a bit, and he gets the urge to grab his paints and brushes.

In the end, he just climbs back through the window and crawls back into bed with the man he loves. Who, for some reason loves him. And maybe, if Enjolras believes that's enough, it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. The end! I'll probably come back to these two and this 'verse because it's really fun. If you have anything you'd like to see, just let me know and I'll try it out. Also, comments make me happy. Just so you know. What'd you like? What didn't you like? Are you sad about the lack of nipple clamps? Criticism accepted here. 
> 
> But, seriously, this was my first Les Mis fic and my first completed one in general, so I was pretty nervous about putting it out there, but all the comments and kudos really make my day when I get them, so THANK YOU.
> 
> My tumblr can be found [here](http://www.agentxinfinity.tumblr.com.%20tumblr.com). Come say hi!


End file.
